


Dialogue

by CSM_Scriptator



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-12
Updated: 2015-04-12
Packaged: 2018-03-22 12:37:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3729208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CSM_Scriptator/pseuds/CSM_Scriptator
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A meeting in the shadows.  Post-canon</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dialogue

Dialogue

 

Even though the light level was positively stygian, there were a few seconds’ warning – a slight inflation of the barrel chest, a tightening of what passed for eyes as the exact trajectory was calculated – before the stream of mucus was released.

William, surnamed by some “the Bloody”, and nicknamed by others “Spike” for a particular habit of his in former days (when railways had yet criss-crossed civilised countries, instead of rotting under profiteer’s thumbs, or masochist enthusiasts’ whimsies), read the signs, dodged the disgusting effluent, and reached to catch one of the demon’s arms.

It wasn’t as hard as it might have been: there were six to choose from. Chaos had warped this particular example of the demonic into a shape both grotesque and asymmetric. As soon as he made contact, however, he realised that he might have made a mistake. The creature reacted with preternatural speed and four other arms lashed out to entangle him, even as he was learning that this demon didn’t just spit mucus, it was also coated in the stuff. His skin crawled at the icky ooziness, and he got the feeling the mucus wasn’t just for lubrication. In fact, “getting” the feeling was a little inaccurate: was losing the feeling in that hand, what little of it remained to him in his own undead state,

He whipped his long coat at the creature’s face and twisted himself free – ah, he thought, happy torque.

The monster was still coming, though: he would have to think of something else …

The monster fell over, and as it did so, the (currently semi-disadvantaged) vampire saw that it now had a good four feet of wooden handle ticking out of the back of its ribs. The rest of the implement (it looked to have been a long-handled pry-bar) was buried deep in the demon’s guts.

“What the --- “ The sound of retching and vomiting interrupted his pondering. He stepped round the dead demon (noticing as he did that it was already starting to decay and fester) and found, at a little distance, at the mouth of the dank alley, a slim figure wrapped in a raincoat against the city drizzle.

“’oo the – ?”

He had barely framed the question when, with a snap of its fingers, the figure caused a bright spot of light to leap up, casting the truly revolting surroundings (the demon was well-decayed by now, and the body was leaking gobbets of unnaturally-coloured gel) into horrific clarity.

“Spike, as I live, and you don’t breathe,” the figure said chirpily. If the voice hadn’t given it away, the russet-red hair would have.

“Well, well, little Miss Rosenberg – “

“Professor Rosenberg,” she corrected. “Or Rosenberg-Ring, if you want to be fussy.”

“Are you lot still doing that ?” Spike enquired. “And while you answer, can we move away from Mr. Body-Odour here, only I’m hungry enough, without losing the little I got ?”

“Still as polite as ever, I see,” Willow said, leading the way through the streets.

“Ey – you know me,” Spike replied.

“Against my better judgement,” Willow replied.

Once a trio of short-haired young hoodlums thought to interfere. Willow glanced at Spike, who game-faced and, when one of the three hesitated, perhaps to try his luck, grabbed the boy by the throat and growled. White-faced, the boy fled, and Spike cursed his luck.

“Three good meals there, even if you ignore the possibility of shoe-cleaning services and someone to carry the groceries.”

“How are you getting on ?”

“Suffering — not that you or the Slayer care. Where is she anyway ?”

“This week ? In Baltimore,” the Professor replied, as they came to the brighter-lit part of the city.

“So,” Spike said: “Not here.”

“No,” Willow replied, sternly: “I’m here.” She paused. “If you promise to behave, I might know of a fridge with some O positive in it.”

Spike’s eyes brightened. “Okay, Red – I’m on for that.”

“All right – but no nibblies.”

“Not even thinking of it,” Spike replied, crossing his fingers behind his back as he spoke.

 

“So,” Spike said, when they were in the hotel room, and he had his mug of blood, “how ‘re things ? You girls still – “

“We’re still getting along very well without you,” Willow replied. She had a laptop fired up and was entering details of the asymmetric thing Spike and she had killed.

Spike snorted. “Never saw what you got out of that deal – “

“Honesty,” Willow told him: “And sisterhood, and things like that.” She held up her hand to forestall the reply she knew was about to come. “But we don’t expect you to understand, being undead and all.”

“And the University ?”

“So long as I teach class one semester a year, and set and grade assignments for my students rest of the time, they’re satisfied. I publish enough, after all.”

“Yeah,” Spike said, laconically, “And the London gig did you no harm either. What was that, anyway ?”

“A Virric – it had tunnelled into a wax museum there, and was eating random tourists.”

“Heard you did for it, anyway.”

Willow smiled briefly: “Me and Buffy,” she said. “She was on her way back from Gdansk in Poland.”

“And what’s she doing in Baltimore ?”

“Why – do you have relatives there ?”

“Nah it’s just … “

“Buying a new Jeep, to replace the one she totalled in Mexico – there’s a guy there customises them the way she likes them. And taking care of two mutant alligators they’ve found in the sewers.”

“And Psycho-Bitch ?”

This time Willow’s smile was broader and her tone took on a mock-severe tone.

“She wouldn’t like you calling her that. She’s in Tijuana this week, with the troupe. Next week she does 5 shows, across the Mid-West, and in the last she takes a face hit, goes hard against a turn-buckle, and suffers a spinal injury that will take her out for 6 weeks. While she’s out, the boss’s daughter makes a play for the title and Faith goes back at the Pay-Per-View at Boston – her home crowd – and does a number on her to keep the belt.” She exhaled and then said “Ah, the joys of the Squared Circle. So, she gets 6 weeks to work some stuff for us, then goes back, beats up Little Miss Prissy-Mouth, and then she’ll come out again, officially for a visit to her sensei.”

“You really don’t like – “

“Don’t mention that name !” Willow warned. “It’s bad enough her father runs the Federation, and Faith has to work for him.”

“You’ve got a soft spot for Psycho-Bitch,” Spike said. “Mind you, I know of a swamp down in Louisiana … “

“If you’ve nothing better to do than drink my blood – “

“Ooh – is that an offer ?”

Willow raised her head from the screen and raked the blond vamp with one of her Looks and Spike subsided.

“And the others ?” he asked.

“They’re well,” Willow said, disconnecting her Internet connection, and closing the lap-top. “All being well, when this is over, I’ll get to the ranch to see them.”

 

Then she looked at Spike. “And you ?”

“Hunh ?”

“What are you doing, Spike ? Why are you here, now ?”

“I heard – “ Spike broke off.

“Go on.”

“Orright – I heard somethin’ was ‘ere and I thought I c’d help.”

Willow grinned.

“It’s not like that !”

“Of course not, Spike,” Willow assured him, with a hint of sarcasm, and a good dollop of honest concern and affection. “You’re the Big Bad Vamp who’s afraid of Nothing, and who has no desire at all to have a soul or walk in the sunshine or think about getting married, unlike a Certain Vampire we all know.”

“That’s not fair, Red – I never – “

“Spike – you’re a pain in the a– neck,” Willow said. “But you’re our pain in the neck, and so long as you don’t get in the way, or do anything too postal … “

“I should be goin’, anyway,” the vampire said, before things got too chummy – or the Prof got too close to his motivations (the way they twisted gave him the total beejazus, and Willow Rosenberg might just see through the façade he tried to block them off from his consciousness). “Thanks for the blood.”

“Thanks for the chat,” Willow said, walking with him to the room door. “If you’re in Montana – and behaving nicely – come look us up.”

 

_It takes all sorts to make a world, but the best ingredients are friends_ – Professor Willow Rosenberg-Ring, October 201~.


End file.
